The train rattled

This is the second oldest poem I still have, I think, or Dry Golden is the second oldest, really not sure. However, it’s one of the oldest if not the oldest. The event on the train happened in 1995. I worked in London at the time and hated it. Going home was such joy. I am not sure the year the poem was written.

 

The train rattled through the golden green countryside

The sun was washing the colours bright

Of the green leaves and huge golden fields

Nothing felt better than bathing in the joy

 

Of leaving the city of noise and pollution

Back into the air and sun.

Leaving behind the dead, and living again

The heat of the carriage and the windows wide

 

Feeling the air rush in

For a moment I was free, escaping

And I would convince myself of freedom

In the beauty of this moment

 

Heading to walk by the flowers alongside the path

As I would leave the train and the sun drenched station

Feeling joy at the wonder of creation

For a great moment which would soon be over

 

And I would arrive at my destination

And slowly forget this time in which

I felt I was living more than ever before.

Posted in Poems.

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